


Hairline Fracture

by xanthera



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Days, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Heather has a cat, high school is hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 14:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13977450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanthera/pseuds/xanthera
Summary: “A fatigue-induced fracture of the bone caused by repeated stress over time. Instead of resulting from a single severe impact, [it is] the result of accumulated trauma.”OrEven the queen has bad days.





	Hairline Fracture

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this in between chapters of Blood and Silver for a while, and I think I'm finally satisfied with it. I'll probably write more in this universe at some point, but probably not until after the next few chapters of B&S.
> 
> Trigger warning for brief mentions of menstruation throughout.

Heather wasn’t really one to believe in any sort of arcane bullshit about predicting the future, like tarot cards or palm-reading - that was the realm of the goth kids and neo-pagan weirdos - but she knew a bad omen when she saw one, and stepping in a fresh pile of cat puke the moment she got out of bed definitely did not bode well for the rest of her day.

She managed to swallow a screech of indignation and disgust, not wanting to draw the attention of her parents and thus be forced to actually interact with them first thing in the morning. That was not something she was in the mood to deal with.

The culprit behind this whole unpleasant turn of events sat demurely on Heather’s vanity, staring at her with what she could only interpret as feline smugness. She whisper-hissed, “Really, Versace?! Right in front of my bed?!”

The Siamese cat only responded by blinking at her slowly. Heather growled and hopped across the floor to her bathroom. She propped her foot in the sink and gagged a little as she washed it with the water as hot as she could stand it, then stripped out of her pajamas before getting into the shower.

Honestly, stepping in Versace’s barf was just disgusting icing on the burnt vegan cake that had been her week. Thank fucking god it was Friday.

Leaning against the wall of the shower, she looked down and noticed a small trickle of red down the inside of her leg. She peeked past the plastic curtain to look at her discarded pajamas and underwear, and sure enough, a red-brown splotch had appeared on her favorite pair of lacy white panties. “Sure,” she grumbled. “This might as well happen.”

She picked up her razor with a sigh and began the arduous process of making her legs aesthetically acceptable to the world, only to drop it when she immediately nicked herself. She bit down on her lip to stifle the urge to cry out in pain, glaring daggers at the abandoned grooming instrument.

“Yeah, today is going to suck.”

 

\-----

 

Heather’s knuckles were white on her steering wheel as she pulled into the school parking lot next to Duke’s Jeep. She took a lot of pride in her bright red Porsche, despite it having essentially been a bribe-slash-means-of-censorship from her parents. They knew she would never dare to deface it with bumper stickers, so there was no chance of her offending Grandma’s sensibilities with another “blasphemous” decal like she had with her old used Ford. Still, it was a gorgeous car that was fun to drive, and great for attracting exactly the kind of attention she wanted from the rest of the school.

Naturally, leaving the house that morning to see that some asshole had left a sizable dent in the bumper during the night had not been pleasant.

She slammed the door closed with a huff as she exited the car, and stomped over to the bottom of the stairs where Duke, Mac, and Veronica had gathered. Veronica glanced up at her as she approached and visibly recoiled from the obviously irritated red Heather. “Jesus, who pissed in your cheerios?”

“Some fuckhead rammed into my car in the middle of the night,” she said with a huff. “Heather, I need the number of the garage that does your Jeep’s body work.”

Duke nodded and began scrolling through the contacts on her phone. “I can give you their contact info, but I don’t know if they do European models.”

Heather groaned. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

 

\-----

 

It wasn’t that Heather didn’t care about her grades, she just had other things that she cared about more. She held no delusions of attending an ivy league school, anyway, and never intended to apply to one in the first place. She had been carefully assembling a portfolio filled with photos and sketches of the multitude of outfits she had designed over the last few years, with the aim of submitting it to several art colleges, all of them far, far away from Ohio.

Heather was perfectly willing to let her grades suffer a bit for the sake of her social life and her art, but that didn’t lessen the sting of being handed back a big fat “D” on a vocab quiz that she had actually _tried_ to do well on. Seeing which answers she had missed made it that much worse. She could remember the definition of “myriad” perfectly fine now that the test was over. How she had managed to forget the fact that it meant “a fuck-ton,” she had no idea, but she knew that this was her fifth shitty grade this semester, which meant that she would be getting an earful from her parents.

But mostly, it just sucked that she had actually studied - had actually put in the effort to do well - and still managed to bomb the test. She scowled as she left the classroom. “Fucking _myriad_. Mr. Hodges can eat a bag of dicks.”

“Big fucking mood.”

Heather turned to her left to see that Mac wore a similar expression of what Veronica had once described as ‘academic despair.’

“What’d you get?” Heather asked.

Mac groaned. “A C- with a stupid ‘you need to apply yourself’ note in the corner. You?”

Heather smiled bitterly and held the test paper up so Mac could see it.

“Oh. Damn.”

“Yep. Not looking forward to hearing another lecture, but hey, at least it wasn’t an F.”

“Do you think he’ll grade on a curve for the final?”

“Jesus Christ, I hope so.”

 

\-----

 

“I’m pretty sure Keith and Courtney are dating again,” Mac said, picking at the cafeteria’s sorry excuse for cheese pizza. “Can you believe how she keeps crawling back to him?”

“I bet he cheats on her again in less than two weeks.” Veronica said. “Then she’ll be in denial for another week before she breaks up with him again and the cycle starts over.”

“Two whole weeks?” Duke scoffed. “Please, that asshole is hornier than half the football team combined. He won’t even last until Wednesday.”

Heather wanted to contribute to the gossip - she loved shit-talking Courtney and all of her terrible life choices - but she didn’t have the energy. Her day had been one catastrophe after another and she just wanted to spend her lunch period relaxing.

A buzz from her phone roused her from her half-stupor, and she checked the screen.

_New text message from: **Mom**._

Oh, joy. Heather unlocked the screen with a sigh.

_**Mom** : Don’t make plans for Saturday evening. Your Grandma’s birthday is this Sunday, so we’re all going to morning mass with her._

Damn it, Heather had forgotten about that. She groaned and quickly tapped out a response.

_**Heather** : can I draw a card 4 her instead? the week after next is spirit week and i was gonna start geting ready 4 that with the girls this weeknd_

She hated writing sappy cards with a passion, but she hated her grandma’s church even more. Come to think of it, Grandma herself wasn’t much better. She hit ‘send,’ but immediately realized that spirit week was probably a flimsy excuse.

_**Heather** : if not thats fine i just want 2 know so we can plan_

Her phone buzzed almost immediately after she hit ‘send’ for the second time.

_**Mom** : No. I said all of us._

Shit. Bad move.

_**Heather:** k i wont plan anythng_

_**Mom** : Good._

Very bad move.

“Heather, are you feeling okay?”

Heather looked up to see Duke, Mac, and Veronica all staring at her with mild concern. “What are you talking about?”

“Your face got really pale all of a sudden,” Mac said. “Are you sick?”

Heather opened her mouth to say it was nothing when a stabbing pain suddenly erupted in her abdomen. She hissed through her teeth, but was grateful to have an excuse. “Period cramps.”

“I have ibuprofen in my locker,” Veronica said. “We can grab some on the way to study hall.”

Heather gasped dramatically and declared, “How I lived without you, Sawyer, I don’t know.”

“Hey, what about me and Heather?”

“Shut up Heather.”

“Sorry, Heather.”

 

\-----

 

The cacophony of voices that filled the hallway barely broke through the fog that filled Heather’s head, fading to a dull hum in the back of her brain. Only through sheer muscle memory was she able to keep from slouching as she made her way to study hall with Veronica and Duke.

She was so fucking ready for this day to be over already. One thing after another after another, on and on and on. She had considered skipping the rest of the day once study hall was over, but with the ‘D’ from Mr. Hodges and the texts from her mom already hanging over her head, she decided against it. Better not to give her parents any extra ammunition in the inevitable shitstorm that would happen over dinner tonight.

Not that it would mean much in the grand scheme of things either way. The most she’d have to deal with would be having a few hundred dollars docked off of the max she could charge on her credit card. It wasn’t like they were going to ground her or take her car away. Hell, they wouldn’t even limit her internet or phone access. They weren’t about to confiscate anything that would get her out of the house, and, subsequently, out of their hair.

Her train of thought was brought to a screeching halt by a sudden pain as her ankle twisted beneath her. She narrowly managed to save herself from slamming face first into the floor, but she toppled over all the same. She growled looked behind her to try to discern what the fuck had just happened.

The answer came in the form of a broken heel, which was now dangling from her shoe by a flimsy piece of old glue.

Great. Fucking great. Thank god she was smart enough to keep a pair of black ballet flats in her bag for emergencies like this, but that didn’t make it any less of an annoyance.

“Shit, are you okay, Heather?”

Heather glared up at Duke with an order to shut up already on her tongue, but she was suddenly aware of the countless other pairs of eyes trained on her.

Heather ripped the shoes from her feet and pulled out the ballet flats with a huff. “Jesus, I thought Nordstrom would have at least a __little__ better quality than that,” she said, a little louder than necessary. “Might as well buy shoes at fucking Macy’s.” She let as much venom seep into her words as possible, partly to vent her frustrations, but mostly remind the gathered crowed that she was Heather Chandler, and that no spill in the hallway would make her a laughingstock as it would anyone else. This was the fault of the shoes, not her. She was untouchable.

It seemed to have the desired effect, if the nervous faces of the students around her were anything to go by.

But they were still looking at her. All of them, staring as she stood up. No one was talking - they wouldn’t dare - but she knew there would be whispers later. Courtney and the other country club assholes would be all over this within the hour. The walls almost seemed to close in around her as their eyes bored into her.

There were too many people here.

She had to leave.

She had to get out.

Fuck study hall, she had to save whatever dignity she had left.

Heather shoved her feet into the flats and stalked down the hall, the crowd parting before her like the red sea as she made her way to the nearest bathroom. She practically kicked the door open once she reached it, and the two girls chatting by the sink immediately bolted one they realized who had interrupted them.

Heather leaned heavily against the mirror, letting the cool glass soothe her pounding head. Her breathing had almost turned to full on panting, a puff of fog appearing and reappearing on the mirror with each breath, and she inhaled slowly a few times to try to compose herself.

God, fuck this day. Fuck getting her period. Fuck Mr. Hodges. Fuck those cheap-ass kitten heels. And fuck herself for letting her emotions get the better of her over a few minor inconveniences.

She hoped to whatever higher power was out there that this was just her hormones making her so irrational. It wasn’t like this was anything new. Her parents were always shit. Her grades were always below average. There were always students who would jump at the first opportunity to topple her from her throne. This was her life. This was her normal.

So why the hell was Heather _god damn_ Chandler on the verge of sobbing?

She inhaled deeply and let it out, disgusted with the way her breath shook. Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the sink, and she tilted her face skyward when she felt the unmistakable prickle of tears.

Heather was not going to cry. No way in hell. She refused to be _that girl_  having a breakdown in the school bathroom over literally nothing.

“Is there something on the ceiling?”

Shit. Veronica. “Of course not, pillowcase.”

Veronica looked at the ceiling and then back to Heather with a quirked eyebrow. “Okaaaay, so if there’s nothing there, why are you staring straight up?”

Damn it, there was really no graceful way to lie her way out of this, was there? She could try to play it off, but she couldn’t lie. Veronica was too smart for that. “I’m having a shitty day, but my foundation was forty-eight dollars.”

“Heather, what— Oh my god, are you _crying?_ ”

“Do you fucking _see_ tears?”

The wind was nearly knocked out of her as Veronica suddenly engulfed her in a hug. “Gah! Ronnie, what the hell?!”

“Jesus, Heather, you should have told us you were feeling bad.”

Heather tried to wriggle free, but Veronica was a lot stronger than she looked. “And why the actual fuck would I do that?”

Veronica stepped back and looked at her curiously. “Uh, because that’s what normal functioning humans do? We say, ‘Ugh, I’m having a bad day,’ or something, and then everyone else says, ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’ It’s normal. You know you can talk to us about that. Emotions and shit.”

Heather wanted to be angry. She wanted to be furious with Veronica for talking down to her, but she wasn’t, and that scared her. “It’s not about ‘emotions’ or anything deep, everything just feels worse because I’m on my period. It’s hormones. It doesn’t matter.”

Veronica shook her head. “Even if it’s only because of hormones, what you’re feeling is real. If you’re upset, you’re upset; it doesn’t matter why. You’re allowed to just be unhappy.”

What the fuck? Why was Veronica still acting like she needed to feel sorry for Heather even knowing it was just her stupid uterus? Couldn’t she just have just left it at sharing pain killers and commiserating about cramps? Now she was acting like a damn therapist. She might as well have just sat her on a couch and said, ‘Tell me how that makes you _feel _.__ ’

And Heather had no idea how to respond to that. She’d tried once, after being advised to see the school councilor, but it had gone nowhere. That women had been determined to crack her like a safe, to forcibly extract some sort of hidden secret about Heather, and she wanted no part of it. She would not be laid bare like that by someone else. No one was going to break past Heather’s carefully constructed walls.

So how was Veronica succeeding at doing just that without even trying?

“It’s just a bunch of little things piling up, okay?” she spat. “I stepped in cat barf this morning and it kind of set the tone for my whole day. I’ll be fine.”

Veronica folded her arms. “‘Will be?’ So you’re not fine right now?”

Fuck. _Fuck_. “N-No, that’s not what I—” No. No no no, she couldn’t let Veronica see this. She couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t. “Look, my grades are shit and my parents are shittier and it’s just getting to me today, okay? Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” There. She had brought back the hostility that kept everyone at arm’s length. That would scare Veronica off, and all of this would go away once she left the girls’ bathroom.

Except that Veronica didn’t leave. Instead, she reached out and took Heather’s hand in her own and squeezed. “That really sucks, Heather. If there’s ever anything I can—”

“Shut up!” Heather yanked her hand out of Veronica’s grasp. “I don’t want your fucking pity! I just want…” God, she didn’t know what she wanted. _She didn’t know._ She fell back against the wall and slid down, landing on the tile and burying her face in her arms. “…I just want to be able to _breathe_ for one fucking minute, okay? My grades, my family, the clique, all of it. I wish it could all just… stop for a little while.” She looked up at Veronica with eyes that she knew were shining with tears, but she didn’t care. The illusion was already shattered; Veronica was seeing her at her lowest, and no amount of makeup or attitude was going to change that. “I’m tired, Ronnie. I can’t be a mythic bitch all the time…”

Veronica stared, and Heather squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the worst. Everything she’d worked for - everything she’d spent the last four years building - was about to come crumbling down around her. And she was certain that it would start with the girl she raised from nothing cackling at Heather’s downfall. Irony was truly a cruel mistress.

So she didn’t expect the sudden warmth of a body next to hers.

Veronica had settled down on the floor beside her. Heather felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, and despite her better judgement, she found herself melting into Veronica’s embrace.

“I get that,” Veronica said with a sage nod. “Sometimes life just hits you all at once, huh? It’s cool if you don’t feel like talking about it with us, but repressing it completely isn’t healthy. It’s okay to not be okay. I mean, for fuck’s sake, if you were happy every day of your life, you wouldn’t be human. You’d be a game show host.”

That coaxed a smile out of Heather. “I mean, I’m already like Steve Harvey. There are definitely enough idiots I have to deal with.”

Veronica snorted, and Heather was struck by how oddly adorable it was. A voice in her head screamed at her to shut down the thoughts that were suddenly pushing themselves to the front of her mind, but Veronica was warm, and the world had stopped collapsing. What was the harm in a bit of wishful thinking while she was safe?

She buried her face in Veronica’s shoulder. “Jesus fucking Christ, I wish I didn’t have to go back to class.”

“Do you wanna ditch? Go buy a new pair of shoes from someplace other than Nordstrom?”

Heather shook her head. “My parents are already going to give me shit for a test I bombed. I don’t want to give them any more reasons to chew me out.”

A thoughtful hum escaped Veronica’s throat. “Well, then I guess we’ll just have to go to the nurse’s office.”

“What?”

“Breaking a heel can be hell on your ankles.”

Heather pulled away and stared at Veronica like she had grown a second head. “You do know I’m an expert at walking in heels, right? I haven’t rolled an ankle since I was twelve.”

“I know that,” Veronica grinned, “but the nurse doesn’t.”

Heather burst out laughing. “Oh my god, we’ve corrupted you!”

Veronica reached for Heather’s hand and helped pull her to her feet. Heather felt her face heat up at the contact, and if she held on a little longer than she really needed to, no one had to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to Scouts_Mockingbird for the absolutely GENIUS idea of Heather naming her cat 'Versace' :3


End file.
